The way to beat modern stress... do literally NOTHING
No phone. No telly. No music. No chat. CLAUDIA CONNELL tries the latest craze — starving your senses to boost your brain
YOU’LL often hear busy people, like me, say we’re looking forward to doing absolutely nothing at the weekend.
What we really mean is we’re going to stay at home and listen to music, make phone calls, shop online and do a few household chores. My ideal ‘do nothing’ day ends with watching a film and ordering in a greasy takeaway.
Well, last Saturday, I genuinely did absolutely nothing. Not a thing. For 24 hours I did what’s called a ‘dopamine fast’, designed to reset our poor, overstimulated brains.
The trend began in Silicon Valley with psychiatry professor Dr Cameron Sepah, who designed the exercise to refocus tech workers’ foggy minds.
Dopamine is a neurotransmitter (a chemical messenger in the brain) that plays a key role in our response to reward, motivation and pleasure.
When we tuck into a delicious cake, win praise at work or chat to a friend, our brains get a dopamine hit. The trouble is the high from it can be addictive — the more that’s released the more we want, and too much can affect concentration.
The idea of a dopamine fast is that in starving your brain of these hits, you will crave it less.
Sounds good in theory. The problem comes when you put it into practice. In a 24-hour fast, you cannot use electronic devices (no phones, computers or TV). You must not listen to music or read books, and avoid all but necessary conversation, eat nothing and drink only water. In other words, do nothing that stimulates the brain.
All that is permitted is writing with pen and paper and taking a walk outside.
I smugly assumed I would sail through the challenge. I didn’t believe I was addicted to my phone. I live alone so am used to my own company and have done more dieting fasts than I’ve sent text messages. Easy peasy.
I hit the first hurdle as I went to bed and realised my iPhone also serves as my alarm clock.
Surprisingly, I woke naturally after seven hours. My first instinct was to reach for my phone and check for messages. Luckily, I’d hid it in my sock drawer to avoid temptation. I knew I couldn’t eat all day, so I’d been out for an Italian meal the night before and ‘carb loaded’ like an athlete before a race.
Unfortunately, I’d also ‘Rioja loaded’ and woke with a thumping headache I couldn’t treat with a stodgy breakfast. Instead, I had to make do with water.
On a typical Saturday I start the day with breakfast, reading the papers and listening to music on the radio before calling my mum for a chat — all banned.
What you are encouraged to do is write down how you’re feeling. I wanted to record that I found the silence in my home odd and intimidating. But I stopped short when I saw my appalling scrawl. I realised that I now write everything — even letters to family — on a keyboard. I spent an hour practising my handwriting.
The fast does allow you to step outside, but bans contact with people. I needed to send a birthday card, so went out to buy one. I quickly crossed the road when I saw a chatty neighbour approaching and hoped she hadn’t been offended.
In the shop I planned to pay with a contactless card and to smile at the assistant to show I wasn’t frosty. It backfired.
‘When is this rain ever going to stop?’ she asked politely.
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Still, we shouldn’t complain. All those poor souls who’ve had their homes destroyed in the floods.’ ‘Mmm,’ I replied. I departed feeling upset I couldn’t return her friendliness.
I decided to spend the rest of my fast locked away. By 2pm I was ravenous, but at least the eight glasses of water had seen off my headache.
My thoughts wandered, and I realised that if I hadn’t avoided my neighbour, she would have chatted about her naughty new puppy, which last week chewed her favourite shoes. I realised I really wanted to have that chat.
Fasters are recommended to meditate, but I’ve never been good at that. So at 3pm I lay on the sofa and stared into space. The urge to switch on the TV was overwhelming.
After 90 minutes I found myself trying to recall all The Sound Of Music songs in order. By the time I got to My Favourite Things I was getting cross. Did that come before or after Lonely Goatherd? Normally, I’d Google it.
I toyed with the idea of doing some cleaning, but I’m one of those weirdos who loves housework so thought better of it, lest it trigger a dopamine surge.
NExT year I plan to redecorate, so I jotted down a few ideas. I realised I was also talking to myself. Was it just to fill the silence?
Time goes slowly when you have nothing to fill it with. I’d planned to watch Strictly, but instead poured my 12th glass of water and sat staring at the turned-off telly.
‘Bored, bored, bored’ is what I childishly wrote in my pad. By 9pm I did the only thing left to do — and went to bed.
In theory, dopamine fasting should mean you sleep well, as your mind is relaxed and not over-stimulated by the blue light gadgets give off. Sure enough, I fell asleep easily and deeply, snoozing for a blissful 11 hours straight. I couldn’t believe it.
The next morning I quickly turned on the kitchen radio but, surprisingly, I didn’t check my phone or laptop for hours.
When I turned my phone on it delivered a series of texts, Twitter notifications and WhatsApp messages. ‘Shall we see Last Christmas tonight?’ my friend Claire had texted yesterday lunchtime. ‘You there? 6pm at The Odeon?’ she texted two hours later. ‘You OK?’ followed.
It just proves how accustomed we are to getting hold of everyone at the touch of a button.
Instead of rushing to answer every text and see Strictly, I vowed to talk to my neighbour about her puppy, and to return to the newsagent and be extra nice to the lovely assistant.
I’d made a note to check the running order of the Sound Of Music songs, but decided I can easily get by without knowing.
I am surprised at how difficult I found the fast, how unfamiliar I was with silence and idleness.
There’s no arguing with the amazing sleep I had — but being alone with my thoughts was lonelier than I imagined.
I can easily live without YouTube videos of kittens or angry Brexit tweets. But the fast has made me appreciate the little human interactions we take for granted.